


Death of the Shinigami

by RuGrimm



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Shinigami, Suicide
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-24
Updated: 2015-05-28
Packaged: 2018-03-31 23:14:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 21,021
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3996835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RuGrimm/pseuds/RuGrimm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of Chapter 105 of the Kuroshitsuji manga, it is revealed that all Shinigami are reincarnated humans that committed suicide in their past lives. So how did our favorite reapers really die?<br/>With our young actress making her way to stardom after yet another successful production, what drives Grell over the edge? What drives young Sascha, an aspiring photographer to finally end his life? And the famous ladies' man who has all the women and money he could want? How does each reaper finally decide that the only way out is death, only to realize that they're to be cursed to have life all over again?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Star Fall

**Author's Note:**

  * For [TiBun](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiBun/gifts), [Xenobia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenobia/gifts), [DareDreemer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DareDreemer/gifts), [UnknownPaws](https://archiveofourown.org/users/UnknownPaws/gifts).



_**Star Fall**_   ** _  
_**

            “Grell Sutcliff. Twenty-one. No special notes. Death by blood loss: result of successful suicide attempt.” The cold, harsh stamp of COMPLETED marked the thin, white sheet of yet another successful reaping report.

            “I’d hate to see him joining the ranks,” muttered a blonde-haired reaper, crossing his arms as his black dress shoes tapped on the wooden floor of a small apartment.

            “Really? You shouldn’t be such a pessimist~!” cooed the ancient reaper standing beside him as he brushed a loose strand of silver hair from his face—a wide grin splitting his flawless features. “I think this will be quite interesting~!”

Xxx

            “To another successful production! Hurrah!”

            The clink of glasses of all different shapes holding all forms of alcohol echoed through the downtown pub.  

            Tipping his head back, the familiar singe of the drink burned Grell’s throat delightfully. He’d always enjoyed this sort of thing. After another production in the local theatre that had turned out to be more than profitable, the esteemed Macbeth, Grell himself, sat in that pub with a dismal frown. It was hard to fully appreciate something that now seemed to be his routine. His life seemed to be a balance of practices and visits to the pub. Once the act was performed and over with, they’d celebrate at the pub all night long, go home, sleep off their hangovers, and return in a week’s time to start all over again.

            Grell hated it.

            Oh, the brief moments of spotlight were not enough to sate him. That brief, ephemeral ecstasy was never satisfying for long. The reality of the world was like a brick wall, and no matter what happened, he could never break through it with his bare hands. He needed out. He needed an escape from this—permanently.

            The end of his fingernail traced the rim on his glass, lips caught in a tight, pensive frown. All the laughter in the room had died out to a gentle murmuring in his ears; it hardly mattered anymore. However, he could not help the voice that came through; the voice that broke his thoughts like one would shatter a mirror.

            “Grell, are you all right? You’re the star of the show after all. Shouldn’t you be celebrating?” Reginald Cramsey, his understudy, politely tapped his shoulder and stood by with a glass in hand.

            “I’m fine, Reg. Go have fun,” he muttered, swishing his hand as if swatting away a fly and shaking his head to the bartender who offered to refresh the drink he'd barely even drank.

            “Are you sure, Grell? You’re usually so exuberant at these parties. It’ll be the last one of the year. Are you feeling okay? You’ve hardly touched your drink, too. That’s not like you,” he pressed, sitting beside the other who slumped over his glass and shot a menacing glare toward the intruder. “Grell, I’m here for you. What’s got your knickers in a twist?”

            “It’s nothing. Get out of my hair, Reg. I haven’t the time for your crap, cockchafer,” he hissed, standing from his seat and slamming the payment for the drink onto the table before throwing on his coat.

            _“Grell!”_

“Oh, bugger off,” he muttered, buttoning his coat as he stormed out the door and slammed it behind him.

            The first step he took, his boots sunk into the deep snow of mid January. The soft, slow flakes of winter drifted from the dark, clouded sky, blanketing the quiet town in a fresh, layer of bitter cold. Icicles hung from their perch above on signs and from window sills as the redhead walked through the dark, silent streets.

            In the dark, the only source of lighting he found were that of the lights inside a few homes here and there, and the stores and pubs that were still lively even as late as it was. He figured that most of them had also come from his performance of Macbeth, and that was further enforced by a woman and her child that walked past him and stopped to oogle.

            “Are you Macbeth?” asked the little girl there, her hair tied up into a cute pigtails and clad in a fancy, nice, pink dress that complimented the similarly colored bonnet in her blonde locks.

            Grell stopped a moment, his hands buried deep in his pockets as he turned with an actress’ smile. “Why, yes I am~! How kind of you to take notice~!” he sang, tilting his head to the side as he bent over slightly to look at yet another nuisance in his life.

            “I thought you died…” she said, her trimmed brows narrowing in confusion.

            “Lottie, he is an actor. It was just pretend, darling. Come, let’s not bother this nice man any farther. He must be tired after such a long night. Good night, Mr…?”

            “Sutcliff,” Grell muttered, his smile fading as he turned from the two women. “Grell Sutcliff…”

            Head lowered and eyes downcast at the shoes that kicked up snow with ever step, the redhead didn’t mind as white flakes met his pale cheeks and stung his face like icy needles. His short hair was plastered to his forehead with the melting snow, icicles forming in his red hair. Fighting the shakes and shivers that his body threatened to betray, he ignored the burning of frostbite on the end of his nose, and the tremble of the lips that began to grow blue with the cold.

            As his eyes narrowed in thought, his muddled thoughts knew only one thing as he made his way to his apartment. Yes, this was it. Tonight would be the night. He would finally escape the world and laugh at the face of death.

            Instead of the fear associated with the unknown, Grell found himself looking forward to it. What would the clutches of death be like? Would death clutch him with cold hands like winter? Would it be slow and painful? Or would it be fast and agonizing to the point of unconsciousness?

            No matter what happened, he could not fail again for there may not be another chance as opportune as this.

            His thoughts were interrupted by the flash of red in his peripheral vision, and he inclined his head to the dimly lit display of an extravagant dress in the window. With a smirk, he approached the ball-gown and removed his hands from his pockets to gently press against the glass. Now what could be more beautiful than to die in such a dress?

            Its white ruffles and modest simplicity was only illuminated in the glare of light from a nearby home. As his fingers etched out its magnificent contours, he became aware of the lack of people around in the sleeping town. There seemed to be nothing standing in his way, and it would be a shame if he just left it here for someone to snatch from his eager hands. Slipping toward the door of the shop, he tested the door handle with a slight frown and found it locked, not to his surprise. With all the expensive items inside, the clerk would have to have been a world-class idiot to leave the door unlocked.

            Walking back to the window, he bit his bottom lip gently and stepped back as his foot collided with the glass. He yelped, stumbling back and landing on his back end in the snow. Standing back up, he grit his teeth and stood sideways while taking in a deep breath to prepare himself for the next blow. Bringing his arm back, he summoned every ounce of strength as his elbow collided with the center of the glass, the glass cracking and then shattering with a second blow.

            A wide grin split his lips, and he pushed out the remaining shards to grant him access into the store. No one had heard the crash of glass in the still night, and only the lone barking of a dog in the distance was audible that snowy, January night. His hands greedily clutched at the dress before it was relieved of the mannequin in which it hung and carefully laid over the redhead’s arm. “Ah, aren’t you something to behold?” he cooed, his left hand rubbed against the fabric gently before he turned and jumped down from the display, going back down the road.

            He didn’t care whether or not he left tracks behind him as tonight he would be dying, and the dress would be found, cleaned, and returned to the store anyway. Whether or not anyone would buy it after they found out someone had died wearing it was the question. Grell could only smirk and roll his eyes at the thought.

            When he reached his apartment building and as he made his way past the tenements of his neighbors, his heavy legs burning with the freezing cold, he licked his stiff, blue lips with half-lidded eyes. Just the thought of death in such a dress made him giddy—made his heart race.

            He’d been the cause of so many deaths himself, but this would be the most beautiful of them all. Oh, yes~! None could ever compare.

            Grell could imagine the look on his playmates’ faces when they found him lying in his blood and in a dress with that grin on his face that spat in the face of death. Oh, he would be the true master of death. There was nothing he could fear if he did not even fear the end. His eyelashes fell halfway, body shivering in the ecstasy of the thought.

            The moment he entered his modest dwellings, he discarded his coat and dress in the eagerness to begin the end. His hands were shaking, a laugh causing his body to tremble in his mirth.

            “Oh, how tragic. The lady of red complimented by the color she loves so much…” he muttered to himself with a sinister smirk.

            Placing his discarded coat on the end of his bed, he stepped in front of his full length mirror and admired his slender form for a few moments as if to consider what could possibly make his death more perfect. Tilting his head to the side, he wondered whether or not the bottle would make a nice addition, but decided against it.

            No, they would blame his death on his drunkenness instead of his own deliberate doing. However, that didn’t mean he couldn’t make his death a little creatively.

            Studying human anatomy in the eighth grade, he knew that if he slit his wrists horizontally, it would be ineffective. His arteries would only constrict and draw back into wound, effectively stopping the bleeding very quickly. However, if he cut it vertically, the constriction of the artery (a natural bodily defense) would pull the cut open wider and cause it to bleed more profusely. It wouldn’t be quick, perhaps an hour or so. Therefore, he’d have a little time to play.

            Shivering at the thought, his thumb slid the button of his shit through each slit, slowly undoing them before rolling slipping off his shirt. Fiddling with his belt, he eventually slid the thin run of leather off and tossed it aside, pants soon following. He grabbed the dress that he had lain beside the coat on the end of his bed and lowered it to slip both legs inside with a giggle. He had never before worn a dress, so the process of getting on was a little shaky, but one he had slipped his arms through the short, white ruffles that were sleeves, he walked over to the mirror and turned to tied the strings in the back of the red fabric. Despite the sagging in the front caused by the lack of something he did not have, it fit every curve of his body as if it were meant for him and him alone. Yes, this was written in the stars for him. Fate had spoken.

            His bare arms crawled with goose bumps from exposure to the frigid air of his home, yet he ignored it. As if in a trance, he stared at his left wrist with a small smile before he raised his head. In the darkness of his lonesome, silent space, his eyes scanned for the small nightstand beside the small, plain bed in the corner of the tiny room.

            Grell pulled out the second drawer, shifting through the miscellaneous knick-knacks, and pulled out the ruby-handled knife decorated with gemstones of various sizes and shapes. “Oh, there you are, gorgeous,” he whispered, pressing a kiss against the sharp blade and standing from the bent over position he had been in.

            Walking over to the window, he looked at the frost-coated pane over the street of quiet, slumbering London so quiet and peaceful, contrary to the excitement and anxiety building inside him. His forehead pressed against the freezing glass that was not much colder than his home as he gazed at the monotonous flakes of white still steadily falling. The tracks he had left on the way in were already covered, and the lights of the homes he had passed were now out. 

            Deciding it was too quiet for his own liking, he walked over to the phonograph and hit the switch on its base before lowering the needle onto the now spinning disc. The low, somber tune of a violin filled the silence with dreadful meter after meter. His eyes closed at the sound, an old sense of nostalgia washing over him like what one would feel looking at an old picture. He could remember his mother playing the same music as he put on the mini plays for her and declared that he’d be the greatest actor she’d ever seen.

            Now she was dead, and he was indeed the best. His death would only ensure that it would stay that way.

            The redhead opened his eyes slowly before he walked back to his nightstand and drew out a fresh candle. Placing it on the candle holder atop the mini dresser of sorts, he pulled out a match and lit the tiny wick before stepping back and watching as the light blossomed and spread over his freezing apartment. He didn’t bother lighting the tiny stove, as there was no need to light it.

            Besides, the cold would better preserve his body so that it would lie unchanged when someone found his corpse.

            He walked back to the window and sat on the sill with a small smile, turning his attention to his wrists as his left hand gripped the knife a little tighter in preparation. It was all or nothing now, and Grell was never one to have second thoughts.

            With a delighted shiver, he watched the tip probe and prod at his pale flesh, tapping and poking curiously to see what reactions he could provoke from himself. He only shivered in silent pleasure, a blush coloring his normally white cheeks. The quiet gasp falling from his lips as the blade slowly dug into his skin could not be helped, and neither could the tremble of his lips as a dark scarlet dripped down the silver and met the pale skin of his tremulous hand.

            The rest was child’s play, and like icing a cake, he painted his arms, the knife, his hands, the window sill, and everything around in that passionate red. His breath grew faster and labored, trying to drive the blade deeper until he was sure that he’d pierce through tendons and the major artery, and then he dug a little farther. Had he continued, he was quite sure that eventually he might have been able to reach the other side of his wrists, as that was as far as he had gone.

            Pain no longer registered in the madman’s mind, as he simply grinned and laughed over the somber music. His hands were covered in the color that complimented him so, and when he had finished, he dropped the knife on the wooden floor stained with his own bloody rose petals and slowly ran the end of his tongue across the blood that still oozed from the gaping wound he had created.

            With a shiver, his eyes fell closed and rolled upward to the back of his head in ecstasy. His tongue only begged to taste more of his own, red essence and didn't hesitate to continue lapping at the scarlet that oozed from his flesh like an overgrown cat.

            So bloody and so perfect, the redhead bathed in the beauty of his demise.

            When he grew tired of the game of cat-and-blood, his skin, all but his cheeks, had grown to the color of the snow still falling outside. Like the lazily winter flakes, death was taking its sweet time as his breath was short and labored, the angry monster of his lungs starving for air and no longer able to get a full breath. He remained oblivious to the lightheadedness taking over his slowing body and instead twirled around with the invisible person he believed could be the ghost of death--dress twirling around him with every step. 

            Sweat formed on his brow despite the cold, and with every graceful step he took, two more stumbles followed in its wake as his consciousness threatened to fade away with his life.

            Refusing to die so quickly, the redhead laughed as he grinned from ear to ear as he sang aloud,

 **_“The rose is red, the grass is green_ ** **  
**The days are past that I have seen**  
**And there is another where I have been**  
**Sweet William's a-mourning among the rush~!”****

            As if mocking death, he laughed a madman’s cackle and slumped against the wall with a taunting grin, body  shaking as his knees threatened to buckle beneath him. He continued again, skipping a verse to his favorite part,

 **“I'll dye my petticoats crimson red** **  
**Through the world I'll beg my bread**  
**When he comes back he'll think I'm dead**  
**Sweet William's a-mourning among the-..!”****

            The redhead’s voice drifted off as he slid down the wall, eyes starting to roll back in his head, but his smile never faded. His tongue ran along his top lip slowly, eyes lazily meandering down to look at the crimson mess of his still bleeding wrists. He tried to finish with his red bangs hanging over his green eyes and his head lay on his care shoulder limply where the short ruffled sleeve had fallen down his arm. Both hands lay limp at his sides on the floor where the blood began to gather and settle on the wooden planks of his apartment.

            The song nearby was starting to draw to a close, as was the red curtains of Grell’s greatest act. Life was such a curious, simple thing at times. And there was nothing more beautiful in its ephemeral span that the close in which it finally ended.

This was the final act.

 This was the final performance.

 And to Grell, it couldn’t have been done better.

“Oh…among…the rush…” he whispered, finally finishing his song and blinking slowly, but his eyes never reopened.


	2. Waking Up

 “Sascha Isais. Age fifteen. No special notes. Cause of death: strangulation in result of a successful suicide attempt. “

Rudgar closed the ledger and let it disappear into thin air. His polychromatic eyes rested on the limp corpse swinging from the rafters of the loft they stood in with photographs hanging all around. “Hello, Mr. Isais. I look forward to seeing you in action soon…”

Xxx

“Now hold still! I’ve almost got it!” Sascha chirped, adjusting his brand new camera with a laugh and adjusting the flash. “There! On three, say ‘Reckendorf! One…two…three!”

“RECKENDORF!”

The family posed in front of one of the many houses made of weathered stone and topped with curved, red roof tiles as the flash went off.

“There, perfect!” he giggled, winking at them as he stepped from his camera. “Once I get it processed, I’ll bring the photo to you!”

“Thank you, Mr. Isais,” said an older gentleman, holding onto his yarmulke as he took a small bow and smiled gratefully. “May the Lord smile down upon you.”

“And you and your family, Mr. Hellman, good day.” With a polite smile, Sascha waved before he picked up his camera and started toward his home.

In the small town of Reckendorf, Bavaria, the Isais family was the most renowned and the richest family. Sascha’s father was the town priest, and his mother was considered the fairest of all the townswomen. Spoiled from a young age, Sascha was given all the newest photography equipment, and he was appointed the position of taking the photographs of every Catholic and Jewish family alike.

Running down the winding, dirt streets of the small town, the brunette didn’t skip a beat as he skipped through the door of his timber home also decorated with a tiled, red roof, and past Mrs. Hinrichs, his Jewish maid, Sascha hurried up to the attic of his home where he had made his photographic haven. Photos decorated the walls, and his little preparation station was set up on the table near the window.

He set his camera down on the table, and extracted the negative from inside. He then set that on a glass pane and grabbed his goggles and gloves in preparation. As he took the sensitized paper from the silver nitrate solution and pressed it over the negative, he grabbed another sheet of glass and laid it over top to give him his finished result. Now all he had to do was put it outside!

Albumen print was now Sascha’s life. Instead of being printed into the grains of the paper, it was now on top of the paper in the most stunning, precise photography he had ever laid eyes on.

Sascha took the glass frame and opened the window to set it on the sill facing west. Now all he had to do was wait!

“Sascha~! Dinner’s ready, Mausi~!”

“Coming, Mutti!”

Fancy new dress shoes thundered down the stairs to the dining area where Mrs. Hinrichs was setting out the table. “Sascha, be a dear and grab the silverware?”

“Yes, Mrs. Hinrichs!” The brunette bounced over to the large cabinet lying against the wall and pulled out the middle drawer where dozens of utensils lay out, sorted by type and then by size. They twinkled and shined in the sunlight that lazily shone through the open door leading to the dirt streets of Reckendorf. Mrs. Hinrichs had likely polished them earlier as she had nothing better to do nowadays after her husband and only son went off to America in search of the alleged gold. At least she received the occasional letter here and there, most barely even got that. Perhaps it was because Sascha’s parents paid them handsomely, or perhaps they really had found gold.

Sascha would never know the answer.

He grabbed the needed utensils and began to lay them out on the napkins on the right side of each and every plate—four in all.

“Thank you, Sascha. You’re such a darling.” The maid didn’t forget to pat him on the head as she walked by, her frail wrinkled hand smelling of the native cyclamen that grew around the forests nearby. The same, pinkish red flowers adorned the crown bouquet sitting in a vase at the center of the table.

“You’re very welcome,” he giggled, turning toward his mother who was wearing her favorite, yellow dirndl.

As she walked into the room from the kitchen where she’d been busy cooking dinner with Mrs. Hinrichs, Sascha’s eyes fell upon her dirty blonde hair kept into a bun, her pale complexion, and thin skirts that reached her ankles and swayed from side to side as she not only walked, but glided with every step. He had her vivid blue eyes, small, pointed nose, round ears, and long, thick lashes that gave him more of the youthful appearance of a girl than the boy he really was.

“Hello, Mutti~!”

“Hello, my Mausi~!” His mother bent over to kiss the top of his head before Sascha pulled away to pull out a chair for her. “Why thank you, Sascha~!”

“You’re welcome, Mutti! Where is Vater?” he asked, sitting beside her with a curious frown.

With a small smile, his mother raised a hand over her lips and let a small giggle escape. “He’s out talking with the Mr. Friedman about his daughter, Erna.”

“Mom~! I told you I don’t like her!” protested the brunette with a huff, crossing his arms childishly. “You promised!”

“Mausi, there are no other nice Catholic girls here around your age except the ones already married…”

“What about the Jewish mom? What’s so bad about them?” he asked, tilting his head and pouting.

“Mausi, you know that it’s against the rules. Do you really want to embarrass our family and make your father and I look like bad parents?” she asked, resting a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Mutti, it isn’t fair!”

“Life isn’t fair, my Mausi. I had to go through the same thing when I was only a bit younger than you. You’ve been blessed more than most other children your age. How bad can marriage be?” she asked, frowning deeply now in concern.

“Jana?” An older gentleman with a dark brown hair and a thick, trimmed beard set his hat on the stand beside the door. His boots thumped on the floor like dog trying to scratch, and his eyes looked in disdain at the young boy sitting at the table as he spoke. “Jana, we’ve talked it out. He agreed.”

Sascha’s eyes fell to his plate as his mother rose with a smile and walked over to briefly kiss her husband on the lips. “What wonderful news. I was just telling Sascha of it.”

“What about the other news, Jana? Did you tell him that?” he asked as he walked over to the table and sat on the opposite side from Sascha.

“I haven’t gotten to that part yet,” she giggled, sitting back beside her son with a bright smile.

“Tell me what? What part?” Sascha looked between both parents, swallowing as Mrs. Hinrichs came in with the main course.

“Sascha…mein Mausi,” she began as she took his hand and looked him in the eye with a smile. He would never forget the strength in it, or the warmth of her youthful touch. “I’m expecting.”

“Expecting what?”

“Sascha…I’m…”

“Your mother is pregnant,” interceded the pastor as he thanked the maid and began to pile up food on his plate with that same, disdainful frown.

“I’ll be a big brother?!” he gasped, eyes widening as a smile finally broke his features again.

“Yes, you will~!”

His mother didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms back around him when he tackled her in an excited hug. He’d waited years for this to happen, and he thought that mother would never be able to provide him with a sibling. For a few moments, he could forget about an arranged marriage and focus on the fact he’d finally get to be a brother.

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

Xxx

A shaky hand left flowers on two graves. One was barely a foot long in length, and the other five-foot or so. Tears rolled down a pale cheek as Sascha stood back and looked at either gravestone—his mother and brother.

His brother had only lived moments after birth, and his mother died only minutes after from blood loss. His father had only shown up for a few moments at the funeral, and he now stood alone in the cold, autumn evening with the exception of the footsteps rustling the leaves behind him.

“Sascha?” A young woman in a white dirndl and bonnet approached. Her auburn hair fell loosely around her, and her hands calloused with the obvious labor she had endured. He recognized her, but he’d never known her name.

“Yes?” He turned, his hair slicked back for the occasion and eyes bloodshot from the tears that now stung his being.

“I’m so sorry about your mother…She was very kind.”

“Thank you…I should be going home…” he muttered, walking past her down the dirt road with a sniffle.

The girl bit her lip, turning and following him. “Would you like me to accompany you?”

“I’m fine…um…I apologize, I do not know your name…” Sascha looked away, trying to quicken his pace in an attempt to lose the straggler.

“It’s Judith. Pleasure to meet you~!” she chirped, keeping up as she picked up her skirts in an attempt to spare them from the dust.

Sascha blinked, turning his head and slowing slightly in curiosity. “You’re a Jew?”

“I suppose the name gives it away, does it not? Hehe, is my religion a problem?” she asked, tilting her head. “You don’t look like the type to be prejudice.”

“I’m not, but my father would not take kindly to it,” he warned, looking at one of the larger houses of the town that just so happened to be his.

“I don’t give a damn what your father says. You lost your mother and brother. Act out a little, and you’ll feel better!” she chirped, that smile unable to be wiped from her face.

“Why do you keep smiling like that?” Sascha slowed, not quite sure whether or not to risk the wrath of the pastor.

“Well, if you just keep smiling and having fun no matter what happens, then you’ll never be sad!” she giggled, throwing her arms out and doing a twirl in the street where children nearby were playing a game of Battledore and Shuttlecock.

“I…suppose that makes sense…”

“Of course it does!” she declared, nodding. “If you keep a positive outlook, then anything can be considered ‘fun’!”

“ _Sascha!”_ His father stood in the doorway of their home, arms crossed as he scowled at the two coming down the road.

“Judith…it was…a pleasure talking with you,” he said awkwardly, slightly grateful for his escape from the exuberant redhead that had followed him all the way home and blathered nothing but nonsense.

“Oh…I see. Well, I’ll see you later, right?” she asked, tilting her head to the side.

“Um…yeah. I’ll see you,” he lied with a fake smile, nodding as he quickly turned and briskly walked away from the other who smiled from ear to ear and waved after him.

As he walked past his father, he lowered his head and swallowed as he started toward the attic. A firm hand caught his arm, and soft eyes met his own as his Vater spoke gently. “You aren’t the only one hurting, Sascha. You aren’t alone.”

“Why would you care? You’ve never cared about me before,” Sascha muttered, pulling from the elder as he ran upstairs and locked the door to the loft behind him.

His eyes scanned the dusty space he hadn’t cleaned for the last week—since the day of his mother’s death. Pictures of various items and people greeted him like an old friend, and in turn only brought the stinging burn of tears and the heaviness that pressed against his chest. “Mutti…” he whispered, sliding down the door and resting his head back against it. “Why?”

Xxx

The cold November frost covered the window of his photographic sanctuary as Sascha rested his head on the table full of blank sheets and lab equipment used for his development. He hadn’t touched a camera in months, and his life had diminished to simply staring from his window.

Dead eyes watched the children throwing a clothball in the street, and the young redheaded girl who had followed him home after the funeral leaving treats for him every day when the sun was at its peak in the sky. He didn’t care anymore, heart hollow and shattered. There was an ache in his chest that he couldn’t quell no matter what he did, and it only grew every day.

Mrs. Hinrichs came into the attic three times a day for each meal, and Sascha only took a little from each plate. He’d deteriorated to the point of starvation, leaving his sanctuary only for use of the town restroom and returning before anyone knew he left.

His father visited on occasion, trying to persuade him to get up and trust that the Lord took his mother for a reason, but nothing he ever said got through. It was as if speaking to a brick wall.

Sascha stood with a tremulous breath, dragging his feet as he walked to the wall of pictures he had gathered of his mother. Each one seemed so tiny, and all pictured her doing the normal, everyday things in life. She’d be sitting sewing in one picture, or tending to the flowers in the front of the house during springtime. His finger brushed the picture of the forest where he loved to play as a young child, laden in the year’s first snowfall. He could recall the first time he played there...his Mutti was there…

_(Flashback)_

_“MUTTI! Wait!” The young Sascha tried to clamber over the heaps and drift of snow, bundled up in a warm coat and red frostbite starting to adorn the tip of his nose and his cheeks. “Mutti~!”_

_“This way, Mausi~! Come on! You can do it!” Kneeling, Jana outstretched her arms with a wide smile._

_Sascha tripped with a squeak, falling in the snow with wide eyes. He stayed there a moment before he got up on all fours with a bright smile, flakes plastered to his face and clinging to his dark hair. Laughing, the toddler crawled toward her, trying to stand and stumbling again into her arms. “Look Mutti! I’m snow monster!”_

_Oh!” Jana cried before laughing, holding him close before pinning him against her bosom and nuzzling his cheek. “I eat snow monsters, gobble, gobble, gobble~!”_

_"Stop, Mutti! It tickles!” he squealed, trying to wiggle away._

_Trying to quell her laughter, Jana pressed a kiss to Sascha’s cheek and stopped with a small giggle.  “Ah, I think I’ve tamed the monster~!”_

_“I’m a good monster,” Sascha promised as he nuzzled her chest with a small smile and curled up in her lap._

_“I know, Mausi. I know,” she whispered, a hand combing through his brown locks._

_“Mutti, can we play here forever?” he asked innocently, raising his head and bright blue eyes blinking as his head tilted to the side like a curious cat._

_Jana sighed, smiling softly as she shook her head. “If we played here forever, then your Vater wouldn’t get to see you as often.”_

_“Why does Vater work all the time?”_

_“Well, it’s because he needs to help everyone. Otherwise, a lot of people won’t get to go to heaven anymore.”_

_Sascha frowned slightly—still confused. “Mutti, are you going to leave me and go to heaven?”_

_“I have to someday,” she whispered with a slow nod. “But I promise you’ll get to see me again after I go. Nothing is forever, Mausi.”_

Xxx

Sascha blinked, looking at his shoes at the memory as he relived it in his mind. Nothing was forever? He would see her after she was dead? That was it. Life was already boring without her. It has dulled into a monotonous routine that repeated itself every day: wake up, stare out the window, nibble on some breakfast, stare out the window, nibble on some lunch, stare out the window, nibble on dinner, and go to bed. He was tired of it. There was no reason to go on any longer now.

Knowing what must be done, he turned, pausing only to reconsider for a brief moment. Did those who commit suicide really go to heaven? Was it not a sin? What if the good things in one’s life outweighed the bad? Could it be a sin if it was only to see your loved ones again?

He took a deep breath before he went downstairs and out the doors into the cold. The brunette understood that haste was greatly required now as he quickly walked through the streets down to the town gallows.

Xxx

Sascha bit his bottom lip, tying the end of the rope to one of the rafters of his attic. When he was sure it was secure, he climbed down and readied the camera he had rigged to go off when he squeezed the end of a long wiry tube. Everything was set.

The chair…

The camera…

The noose…

Swallowing his nerves, he stepped up onto the chair with deep breath; balancing on the very top as his hands grabbed the noose.

“Sascha?!” He could hear Mrs. Hinrichs‘s voice on the other side of his locked door, the jingle of a door knob soon following. “Sascha, are you there?!”

“I-I’m fine, Mrs. Hinrichs!” he called back, chair wobbling beneath him as he put his head through in an attempt to get this over with before she could get in. “I just want to be a lone for a while!”

“Sascha! Let me in please! Sascha! Sascha!” The door tried to open with repeated slams as if the maid was trying to force her way through.

“No! Don’t come in! Please!” he begged, trying to get the knot under his left ear. “I’m fine!”

“Sascha! I’m getting your father!” He could hear the maid running down the steps in a panic, and he knew he must be fast.

He closed his eyes tightly with a tremulous breath, and he raised one foot back as he held the wire tightly in preparation for what would be coming. As he began to rethink what may happen, he thought of how he could pack everything up and hide the evidence until he was sure. Was this even logical? No, he shouldn’t be doing this! He didn’t want to die now! What would happen when Mrs. Hinrichs walked in and saw his body hanging like this?! No, he didn’t want to anymo-!!!

His chair fell out from under him, and his blood-curling scream was short lived as he fell and his mind went blank the same moment his hand involuntarily closed and the camera flashed.

Xxx

“Sascha Isais, you received an A in Practical, B in ethics, A in your written exams, giving you an A average. Due to the odd number of students graduating, we have decided to allow you to work by yourself on your final with the guidance of Mr. Rudgar Hans who will only allow assistance in great time of need. This is your target soul. You have exactly one month to decide whether or not this person should live or die. Choose wisely, and good luck, Mr. Isais. You will only receive one chance.”

Sascha took the file with a small nod, eyes downcast as he read the file with a frown. “Thank you, directors. I shall report back at the end of the month…Good day.” The brunette gave a stiff bow after closing the file again, his hands shaking at what his eyes had come into contact with.

Turning, he walked past the tall, dark-haired reaper dressed in a suit wearing oval glasses. Once out of the room, he sat down in the chair outside and reopened the file.

_Judith Evans_

_Age: 24_

_Location of Death: 130 Reckendorf, Bavaria_

_Date of Scheduled Death: 14:21: June 30 th_

_Cause of Death: Organ Failure due to complications of Pnuemonia_

Judith?

The girl that had told him to always have a positive attitude and treat everything with a smile?

Sascha swallowed, standing as he closed the file and stood with a shaky sigh. When he turned to leave, a voice spoke behind him and jarred him from his thoughts. “Sascha?”

Turning, his altered, green eyes fell upon the reaper that had ended his life—the reaper that he had passed earlier. “May I help you?”

“I don’t believe we’ve formally met before other than how I ended your life. The name is Rudgar—Rudgar Hans. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Isais.”

“And you, Mr. Hans. Please, call me Sascha. Mr. Isais makes me feel old…”

Xxx

Sascha took a deep breath as he watched the doctor and Judith’s husband leave the room. The young girl he had met years ago was lying on her death bed inside the room that was his intended destination. He knew there was no need to conceal himself from human eyes as he walked inside.

There Judith lay, wheezing for breath as death clutched her weakening soul. Her auburn hair was plastered to her feverish face, and her lips and fingernails were a dark blue. As Sascha sat down, the bed did not sink from his weight as if he were a ghost; it wasn’t far from the truth.

He gently took her hand in his palm, giving it a gentle squeeze and rousing the redhead from her slumber. “I must be seeing things…” she croaked with a small smile as she turned her head to rest her cheek on a pillow.

“Hello, Judith…” he whispered with a small, returned smile, tilting his head to the side. “It’s been a long time, hasn’t it?”

“You’re the Isais boy who lost his mother…I walked  you home…and brought you treats every day,” she said, looking toward the ceiling and eyes glazing as if remembering that time so long ago.

“Sascha.” The brunette nodded in agreement, closing his eyes.

“Yes, his name was Sascha. But he died—the poor thing. He hung himself in his room only months later. I wish I could have done more to help. Does that make me a terrible person?”

“N-No, it doesn’t. That wasn’t your fault, Judith. That was my own doing,” assured the reaper who swallowed and fought back tears.

“Are you coming to take me with you? Am I going to die, Sascha?” she asked, turning her head with a hoarse cough to look at the youthful face that hadn’t changed and the training scythe that hung from his belt.

Sascha closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip—something that was becoming a habit now. “I will not lie to you, Judith. However, I can promise that it will not hurt. Just, go back to sleep for me…please?”

Judith nodded slowly, her thumb brushing over Sascha’s like his Mutti used to do. “Do you remember what I told you, Sascha?”

“Yes. I’ve never forgotten.”

“Then, did you take my advice, Sascha? Are you happy where you are now?” she asked softly, eyes filling with tears.

Forcing a smile, Sascha tilted his head to the side and let out a small laugh. “Yes. Because of you, I am and shall always smile.”

“Good…at least…I did something right…” she whispered, eyes closing as she lost consciousness.

Biting his lip, he stood and unsheathed his scythe, raising it over his head with tears that betrayed the reaper-mentality and stung his cheeks like coals. Its blade pierced her heart and released the coiling tendrils of film that fluttered up into the air. The whole world was blind to him as he focused on only a strip of film, playing the day he met Judith—the only day he ever spoke to her. Had he lived and decided to go outside, accepting the gifts she brought, perhaps they might have been good friends.

_“Why do you keep smiling like that?”_

_“Well, if you just keep smiling and having fun no matter what happens, then you’ll never be sad!”_

Eyes narrowing and lips twitching upward into his first smile since his death, Sascha collected the records with a flick of the wrist, laughing as he dodged a reel and back-flipped over the bed, absorbing the reels into the blade of his scythe as easy as taking a picture. Landing on both feet, he sheathed his scythe and looked back at Judith’s body with a wink.

“For you, Judith, I’ll make the most of my punishment. After all, if I keep smiling and having fun during the job, then I guess it won’t be all that bad~! I’ll see you in heaven, Mutti and Judith. That much I swear~!”

“Why are you talking to a corpse, Sascha? Isn’t it pointless? They can’t hear you,” Rudgar muttered, lighting the end of his cigarette with an uninterested scowl as he walked into the room through the nearby, open window.

“Well, what if they could? Hmm~?” Sascha giggled, putting his hands on his hips and tilting his head to the side as he looked toward his mentor and partner.

“What happened to you? You seem happy all the sudden. Hit your head on the door on the way in?” he snorted, raising an eyebrow as he leaned against the wall sideways and held the hedge trimmer over his shoulder.

“Nah, of course not. I’m not _that_ clumsy, you dope,” he laughed, rolling his eyes as he skipped past Rudgar and out the window. “I just finally woke up…”


	3. Time's Up

"Ronald Knox. Twenty years old. Cause of death: heart failure due to successful suicide attempt." The cold stamp of: completed met the white page next to the picture of a young blonde. Looking up from his ledger, the cold, uncaring eyes of a dark-haired reaper met the mangled body of the blonde who had jumped from the building nearby. The blade of the reaper's scythe adjusted his glasses as his lips tugged downward into a pensive frown. 

"Welcome to the Grim Reaper Dispatch Association, Mr. Knox. For your sake, I hope you'll be efficient enough for the task..."

Xxx

Straightening the straps over his shoulder, Ronald looked over himself one more time in the mirror. His red uniform was the most expensive and trendy thing he had ever worn in his entire life living in Thatcham.

His hands ran through his messy, blonde locks in an attempt to pat down the fly-away fringe that never seemed to go away. Blue eyes stared at the military uniform he wore and would be wearing for the next several months--perhaps years. The golden buttons flashed with every slight movement he made, and he tried to break in the new, standard issue boots with the fancy tie-up laces by marching slightly in place. His hat lay beside on the bed that no longer held any sheets as he wouldn't be needing them until his return. 

"You look good," said a voice, breaking him from his thoughts of his appearance.

Ronald turned to see the spitting image of himself (if he were female) standing in the door way, wearing a light blue, cotton dress with white lace trim. Had she not a duty to Ronald, she might have married and had kids at this point with her beauty. "Thank you..."

"I bet all the girls would love to see you in it. I remember how I used to have to teach you to flirt because all you had to do was smile and they would run away," she giggled quietly, barely managing a smile as she held back the lump in her throat.

"I remember. You used to dress me up in these fancy outfits and give me lessons on how I'm supposed to treat a lady. Rule number one: use manners."

Smiling a little wider, the woman nodded and let tears fall down her dimpled cheeks. "Rule number two: always look trendy."

"Rule number three," Ronald continued after the woman, taking a few steps forward, "Always treat women with the upmost respect and make every woman feel special, no matter their looks, religion, intelligence, or history. Rule number four: a smile goes a long way..." 

He managed a small smile in return, eyes looking up and down the blonde woman's dress for a moment before he crossed the cramped quarters of his room that seemed vacant of everything except his furniture. "I'll be back before you know it..."

"You better. You're all I've got left," she whispered, stepped forward and holding him close as a quiet sob betrayed her. Her head rested on his shoulder, hands gripping the back of his uniform. "Mom and Dad would be proud of you..."

"Take care of yourself, Ana..." he sighed, breathing in the soft scent of the Sweet Williams that grew outside their home in the garden--a shared favrorite between the siblings. 

"You too." Ana stepped back, wiping away a stray tear that had fallen without her permission. Her bottom lip quivered, hands clasped in front of her as loose locks of her blonde tresses hung in her face.

"Ronnie..." she whispered, sniffling as she raised her head slightly. Her voice was weak, broken and choked up as more tears surfaced in the corner of her blue eyes identical to her younger brother's. "Promise me you'll come back."

Stepping forward, Ronald took her hands in his glove-clad palms, squeezing them gently as he rested his forehead against hers. "I promise."

Ana let out another choked sob, tackling him into another hug. Tears fell onto his brand new coat, Ronald's cheek resting against the soft mass of yellow hair as his hands rubbed his sister's back gently. "I love you, Ana."

"I love you too..." she wept, refusing to let go as she clung to her brother, knowing there was a chance she may never see his smile or feel that warm embrace ever again. This was her little brother--the boy she had raised as a son when their parents passed. Britain was now trying to take him away from her, raising their taxes so that they could barely afford to eat. To send her brother away to war was the only way to put that food on the table, but it wouldn't matter much if he never came back. 

"Ana...let go...It's time," he whispered, placing his hands gently on her arms latched around his body in an attempt to pull her off. 

With a nod, Ana let out a hiccup as she withdrew again and started toward the door. "I'll bring the horse around front..." she said, pulling out a handkerchief and dabbing away tears. 

Watching her leave, Ronald could feel nothing but guilt. He'd neveer been the cause of his sister's tears before; he'd always been their cure. Now, he was leaving her alone for the first time with the possibility of never coming back. The blonde had never had any military training before, yet here he was leaping head-first into a war like the reckless young man he was. 

As he gazed around the small room one more time, he closed his eyes and let out a long sigh. "This shall not be the last time I stand here again," he whispered to himself, nodding slowly. "I will return--for myself and my sister."

Ronald opened his eyes with a small smile, walking from his tiny, red brick home his gaze looked around to the other red brick and thatched homes all around. It was such a small town now, one of the oldest in England, but he wouldn't want to live anywhere else. It was quiet and peaceful, the smell of those Sweet William's blossoming in the summer sun filling his nose with a fragrence he would never forget. 

A small nicker caught his attention as the bay mare--a fine quarter horse by the name of Sara--followed by his sister's lead. A clank and clutter of the equipment he'd already pack on her flank filled the once peaceful air, disturbing the town that had yet to rise with the dawn.

Ronald let a small smirk grace his lips as he took the reins and grabbed ahold of the pommel and cantle before his right foot mounted the stirrup and he pulled dhimself up to swing his left foot around and hook it in the other stirrup.

While he settled himself in the seat, Ana stroked the long, firm muscles of Sara's neck, trying to fight tears again as she knew her brother's departure would be soon and must be soon if he were to reach his post in time.

"Be safe, Ronald," she murmured, pulling out off her favorite, silver wristwatch and offering it to him with a small smile. "And for God's sake, come home on time for once."

His smile fell slightly, and he shook his head. "Ana, Mother gave you that watch. I can't take that from you."

"It's fine, Ronald, just take it. You can give it back after you come back home," she said, holding it in front of his face insistently.

"All right, but we all know that for me there is no such thing as late," he teased, taking it with a small smile and sliding it onto his wrist only slightly wider than his sister's. "But...for you, I'll make an exception and come home a little early."

"You're always late, Ronald. Someday that will come back to haunt you..."

"I just said I would come home on time, God woman!" he cried with a laugh, tilting his head back as he rolled his eyes and let loose his mirthful chortles.

Ana smirked slightly but lowered her head as she stepped back from the horse. "See you soon?"

Ronald closed his eyes, relaxing before he hissed two fingers and held them out toward Ana. "See you soon. Love you!"

"Love you..." she whispered, looking up with a small, hopeful smile just as the soldier's spurs hit the mare's flank and Ronald started off down the road. Seeing him go, she shook her head with her own little laugh that was short-lived at most. 

"He's going to be late anyway..."

Xxx

A musketball wizzed past his ear, whistling as his ears rung from the nonstop cannon fire. His eyes watered, trying to reload his gun quickly and retain the cold attitude they had tried to force into him within only a few months of vigorous training. He'd barely qualified to be a soldier with his mentality. 

Ronald held the butt of his rile to his shoulder, blindly taking aim at the blue uniform mass and firing in the hopes of hitting any of the Nepoleon's troops, or perhaps Nepoleon himself if her were even here. 

He hardly knew the day, and he hardly knew where he was, but he knew that his orders were to break through this front and reach the other troops at Ligney. The French were trying to go east of the road, and he knew that if the army let them pass, all would be for naught. 

The blonde tried to shield out the screams and repeated firing of muskets and cannons allowed to fire at will with little restraint. His reloading time was fairly decent, but his aim was shaky. Flashes of red and the bodies that fell on his left and right sides into piles at his feet made him tremble and want to scream.

Scarlet blood and a smudge of grey splattered onto his cheek as the man beside him was hit directly in the head with a cannon ball. It was like hitting a watermelon with a baseball bat. The man's head seems to explode, blood, brains, and bits of bone flew out in every which direction, and the explosion of the cannon that had gone through and finally hit the ground made onald's ears pop, the ground tremblig for only a brief few moments until the blonde realized that he was no longer standing but flying through the air as a reprucution of the cannon ball's explosion.

Ronald let out a frightened cry, dropping his rifle as he flew several yards and landed on his back. Whatever had broken his fall was cold and wet, and it splattered slightly at his impact. When he turned his face, Ronald held back a scream as he met the dead eyes of a Austiran soldier's corpse, mutilated and bloodied. 

"Oh God! Oh God!" he cried, scrambling off the body and crawling away only to touch the detached arm of another soldier's. The scream that finally came could no be recognized, and fresh, burning tears streaked down his face like a waterfall. He was too young for this. The nightmare didn't seem to end with all this blood and suffering surrounding him in a never-ending horror. 

"Make it stop! Make it stop!" he begged to no one in particular, almost as if he were praying from som e sort of relief that never came. 

As he crawled backwards, his hands brushed  that of a rifle, and instinctively, he grabbed it just as a blue-coated soldier ran toward him with a battle cry, bayonette at the ready. 

His hands were shaking as he tried to load the gun in time, and as he brought it to his shoulder and hastily fired, the Frenchmen flinched before falling backwards at Ronald's feet. eanwhile, the blonde let out a scream in pain, clutching his shoulder as the gun had not been properly positioned and had dislocated his shoulder from the recoil. 

A seering pain coarse through his entire body, and his being was no longer under his control as he writhed and squirmed in the wrost agony he had ever felt in his life. He felt selfish, taking this tiny injury compared to those blown to bits by the rapid cannon fire. The loud bangs and shots firing on either side had been dulled by the ringing in his ears, and he tried to get to his feet in an attempt to continue fighting for the blonde-haired sister back home, but another pain suddenly gripped his midsection, and a sudden heat soon followed. His hand reached down to touch the sudden pain, and he stared wide eyed as his hands were soaked in blood. 

He'd been shot.

Ronald fell back down with a sob, head hitting the hard ground as he dropped the stolen rifle and clutched his midsection now burning so bad that the pain in his shoulder had long since been forgotten. His wails shook the air around him, now the only sound in his ears over the battle around him.

Was this the end for him? Would he break the promise he'd made to his sister nearly half a year ago?

"I'm sorry, Ana," he sobbed, shaking his head as his cheek rubbed against the bloodied grass and then grapsed the watch around his wrist. "I'm so sorry."

Xxx

"Mr. Knox, I give you a clean bill of health. You are free to go. Are there any relatives you wish for us to contact for you?" asked a nurse as she helped Ronald into his uniform with a stern frown.

"No, thank you very much," he said, his abdomen still sore from the scar of the musketball that had very near well ended his life. "God bless you, Sister Marian."

"God bless you, Ronald Knox," the nun said with a small smile, nodding once as she turned to leave.

"Wait, Sister Marian. I...I have a sister in Thatcham. Is there any possible way to get word out to her?" he asked, knowing she must be worrying after the war that had ended three months ago; he should have been home by now.

"Well, if you stay in town for a few days, I am sure that we might be able to send a letter to your sister. What is her name, Mr. Knox?" 

"Anabelle Knox. She lives on the east side of town," he explained, pulling a letter from his uniform pocket. "I've already written a letter. Do you think you could deliver this to her. I plan on staying her in London for a few days, look around a little."

"I will see what I can do, Mr. Knox. God bless you," Sister Marian said again, taking the letter into her old, wrinkled hand and tucking it into her robed sleeve. 

"And God bless you," he repeated, smiling brightly as he ran outside into the busy streets of London. Oh, what it was like to be free again!

He laughed, spreading his arms out like and eagle and tipping his head back into the small droplets that sprinkled from the sky and met the pale contours of his face. There were so many oppurtunities here, so many people to meet. Yes, he did plan on going back to his sister, and so what if he was a little late. That wouldn't hurt a thing. He had time to kill and explore all the things that London had to offer. Ronald had heard of the crazy pubs filled with beautiful women and good men willing to gamble on a bit of dice. With his luck, he'd get something nice for himself and his sister for when he came home. Looking at the wristwatch from his sister, he smiled and gave it a gentle kiss before he ran down the street to the local pub.

Xxx

 Ronald sighed, eyeing a pretty young lass on the other side of the bar with a frown. Sure, his sister had spent years trying to perfect his flirting technique in the hope of finally getting her nieces and nephews, but those skills had long since been used.

"Eyeing Miss Susan are you? I wouldn't waste my time," said a woman with a bright yellow dress on and her brown hair tied up into a loose bun. 

"Oh, why?" he asked, raising an eyebrow as his eyes inspected the knew woman who was now sitting in close proximity. She wasn't too hard on the eyes either, and the only slight imperfection he could see was the mole on the side of her neck that was almost completely covered by the collar of her dress. 

"She's married, keeps the ring at home so she can still mess around with the men here without her husband finding out. Susie's got the dough from her husband, and likely the 'disease' from her men on the side. Unless you plan on getting those warts on your genitals, I would suggest keeping clear of Miss Susie."

Ronald internally cringed at the thought and nodded in agreement. "Thank you, Miss...?"

"Call me Carolynn, or Carol for short," she said with a small laugh, rolling her eyes as she gestured to the bartender who handed her the usual fine glass. 

Blinking in slightly surprise, the blonde whistled and eyed the fancy champagne and the style of glass she had received. "Woah. Where the hell did you get the money to buy that sort of thing? Didn't even know a pub could have that."

"I inherited the pub from my father. It's mine and I can have damn well whatever the hell I want here," she snorted, rolling her eyes as she sipped the glass with a smirk.

"You own the business?! But you're a-"

"If you say woman, I will cut your tongue off and stick it in a place where the sun does not shine, and then shove it in a little deeper until you can literally taste it."

Ronald fell silent, blushing as he decided to silence himself by downing another glass. After several odd moments of silence, ignoring the raucous laughter and voice all around, he stood and spoke up again. "Do you think I could go out onto your roof?" he asked, grabbing the jacket he had hung on the back of his seat. 

"My roof? Why would you want to go there?" Her thick, yet trimmed eyebrows furrowed as she crossed one leg over the other. 

"I like the view; I like heights. I don't have anywhere to stay, and I thought I could go sit out on the roof and try to scout out where an inn of sorts may be," he said with a nonchalant shrug. 

"Scout out an inn from the room in the dark? If you want, go ahead and just stay up on the roof all night. I don't care as long as you don't make a mess up there, and as long as you don't take up permanent residence," Carol chuckled, rolling her eyes as she finished her glass and gestured for another. 

"Thank you very much, Miss Carolynn. I plan to leave the moment I receive a letter from my sister," he said with a nod, smiling as he headed toward the back where the stairs lead to the roof. With a skip in his step, he nearly ran all the way up to the rooftop, barging through the door and looking toward the sky that spread out above him. The dark city slumbering beneath the full moon back under the light of both the glowing, white orb and the blanket of stars wrapping it with the galaxy above.  

HIs eyes widened with wonder, reflecting the night sky as he stood there for several moments in his silent awe. Ronald soon relaxed, however, and sat down on the edge of the roof to look down at the sleeping city. He always loved hos gravity pulled at his feet as if daring him to jump off. Many times, he had wondered what it would be like to jump off of something so high--to feel free and let go of all his worries. 

Nevertheless, Ronald knew that he could not stay long, and when he pulled from the edge and laid down on the ground still slightly damp from the this morning's early shower, he rested his head on his arm and began to close his eyes in contentment.

For a moment, his sister's voice nagged him about being late, keeping him from falling asleep, but he shoved it from his mind and instead  fell asleep against his better judgement. 

Xxx

"Hey you! Did you fall asleep on this roof without a blanket?! You'll catch a cold!" scolded a familiar voice as Ronald's eyes opened to high heels. Slowly, his eyes traveled up further to meet a familiar mole on a neck and a pretty face framed with brown hair. 

"Oh, hello Miss Carolynn. I suppose I was so tired that the cold didn't bother me much, ma'am. Besides, I've gone through worse. There were no blankets in the army, and we slept on the ground. This rooftop is much more comfortable than the ground; it's less bumpy and wet."

Carols' face softened slightly, and she pulled a blanket around his form with a sigh. "You should take better care of yourself. It'll do you no good if ya get sick, now will it?"

"I suppose not. Thank you, Miss Carolynn," he said humbly with a small smile, pulling the blanket close around him and starting to close his eyes again. 

With a frown, Carolynn's foot tapped against the damp rooftop. "I suppose you didn't get much sleep in the army either, did ya?"

"Well, no," he said with a yawn, blinking as he raised his head and frowned. "I still don't get much sleep. The nightmares haunt me."

"It's nearly noon, Mr.," she pointed out, putting her hands on her hips as she leaned over him. "If you're going to stay here, get off your lazy arse and get some work done around here."

"Work? It's too early for work~!" he complained, pulling the blanket over his head.

"Don't make me lose any pity I've felt for you. Now come on, the floor downstairs needs a good sweeping. I can't ever get anyone to do it. Surely a bit of chores in exchange for a place to live for a few days isn't a bad trade off."

"Well, no..." he admitted with a small blush as he sat up and rubbed his eyes, stretching out as every bone in his body crackled in the unwanted movement. 

"Then come on, up and at 'em," she said, kicking him in the rear end as he rolled over and causing him to squeak. "I don't tolerate no laziness in my pub. Either get at it or get out."

"Yes, ma'am!" he said, getting up quickly and running downstairs in fear that another swift kick to the backside would be his punishment should he fail to do as asked again. 

Xxx

Four days had passed since the letter to Ann had been sent, and there was still no word as Ronald worked diligently at Carolynn's pub and spent the past three nights there. As the fourth day came to a close, Ronald trudged back upstairs to the roof in the same, worn uniform he hadn't been able to change all this time.

He reckoned he must be stinking by now, and the smell of alcohol on his breath wasn't doing anything for him. The past few days, he'd hardly flirted, and all he could think about was his sister who must still be at home, owrrying over his brother who'd come home from the war much too late for her taste. 

Ronald sighed, closing his eyes as he sat ont he edge of the rooftop and resting his cheek against his palm. "Ann..."

"Who's Ann?" Carolynn asked, walking from the busy crowd downstairs with a slight frown. She frowned at his close proximity to the edge, but said nothing to comment on it yet. 

"My sister", he answered, no longer startled by her sudden appearances here and there at such random times. 

"I can tell you love her very much. Is she older or younger?"

"Older by about four yers or so," he said with a small smile, playing with the silver wristwatch he'd been given. "I promised her i wouldn't be late coming home, but here I am three months after the war is over."

Scowling, Carolyyn hit him upside the head. "Then what the hell are you here for?!"

"I've been recovering from my injuries in the war. During one of the last battles I was shot and nearly killed in action. I've been in recooperation for the last few months. I finally had a clean bill of health four days ago, and I sent a letter to my sister...I'm just waiting for one back before I go..."

"Oh...My apologies for striking you..." she whispered, looking over the edge. "That's a long way to fall, Ronald. Are you sure you want to sit that close?"

"Quite sure. I like heights," he chuckled, grinning as he tilted his head back and looked at the bar manager with a wide smile. "Why? Not a fan of them yourself?"

"No, I most certainly am not," she said with a frown, nodding once as she turned to leave. "Good night, Mr. Knox..."

"Carolynn...good night..." he whispered with a small smile, continually staring at the sky now.

Xxx

Tonight was the fifth night since he sent the letter, and Ronald was anxious as he sat on the edge of the roof again with a frown. Shouldn't the rider have been back by now? What if something happened along the way? What if something harmed the rider and his sister never got his letter? 

Twidling his thumbs in trepidation, Ronald chewed on the inside of his cheek anxiously just as Carol walked through the door with a smile. "Mr. Knox! Your letter! I believe this is what you were waiting for!" she exclaimed, holding it out to him just as the blonde snatched it from her. 

His heart faded slightly at the way his name was written on the front of the letter. His sister never wrote in print, and never was he writing so straight and frigid. Instead, it was her personality in wriing, the way each word flowed into another, and the way she always looked her Y's to the point where the tail may fly through the next letter. He swallowed, opening the letter slowly and reading aloud.

_Dear Ronald Knox,_

_With deepest regrets, we unfortunately bear the news of your sister's passing two months ago from dyptheria. She has entrusted her home and belongings to your name, and she leaves you all of her life's earnings in the hope that you will make a better life for yourself._

_A.E. Rockenfeller_

Rockenfeller was their family lawyer, rarely used, but well known as there were not many who knew the law nowadays. 

Ronald swallowed, hand trembling as his voice trailed off and he dropped the letter. 

"Oh...Ronald, I...I am so sorry," she whispered, her usually hard, ridiculing expression softened to one of pity and sympathy. "I...If you need anything, I can pay for your trip back home..."

"Thank you Carolyyn...Just...Leave me be for now..." he croaked, holding back tears as he stared at his feet that hung over the edge of the rooftop. 

The owner of the bar said no more as she gave Ronald a lingering glance before ducking back inside with the click of the door behind her. 

Alone now on top of the roof, Ronald buried his face in his hands and let a small sob escape him, tears leaking from his eyes and between his fingers down to the ground below. With each tear, the memory of each mutilated face flashed in his mind, torturing him as he imagined his sister being among the dead. Her head exploded with the whistle of a canon ball, her screams filling his ears until he imagined they'd pop and then he still hear those screams. 

Ronald clutched the watch around his wrist and wailed aloud, holding it close to his broken heart as he rocked back and forth. And then he stopped, leaning forward slightly in midrock as he looked at the dizzying distance between him and ground. 

It wasn't fair that she would be the one to die when he had been so late. It was his fault! If only he'd listened to his sister's advice and come home on time for once. All those times as a child, he would never come back from the woods on time, and it was always his sister who had the heart attack looking for him in tears. 

He'd betrayed her in a way that he'd never forgive. 

Standing, Ronald swayed slightly with a light breeze that seemed to dare him to take that one step off the edge into oblivion. Would it be swift for him as he knew it wasn't for his sister? Should he suffer more to make it equal between the two of him when he knew that it was his fault that such an occurance had been his doing? However, if he left now, there may never again be another oppurtunity like this.

Ronald closed his eyes, knowing that he could never again afford to be late. Instead, he'd cheat by deciding to do something early for once--die. Knowing that this was the one thing he'd do right in his life, he took in a shaky breath and put one foot forward, letting gravity gently take him in its hands and drag him down to the depths of a sweet nothingness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So here we are with chapter three, that wasn't difficult to come up with, but difficult to write. You see, my fellow fans, Iwill be editing this tomorrow because I am not feeling well at the moment. Yes, I wanted to get this posted today because I did promise you fans that I would get this one chapter done today. Unfortunately, I'm a little late as it is now 2 in the morning. However, you see, it was difficult to write this as I actually broke a glass in my hand doing the dishes today and sliced the palm of my hand open to the muscle. Tomorrow I will indeed be getting stitches, so yes, I did shed, blood and tears over this fanfiction as I am literally typing with a bloody hand (bandaged, so there is no mess on my keyboard, thank goodness XD)). I shall edit this tomorrow when I am feeling a little better, so if you see a few mistakes, do not worry. I shall fix them my darlings and will TRY to get another fanficiton done tomorrow.   
> As for my usual chapter theme song, of course I chose Ronald's theme song: Kudomonku Ja Nakute XD By Ronald's voice actor: KENN


	4. A "Ship"wreck Pt. 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ugh forgive me, my tablet could only take so much data, and unfortunately the word limit on my tablet is about 8,550 words...LOL. So this will be part 1 of Undertaker's death, and part 2 should either be some time tonight or tomorrow :) Hopefully another 8550 words will be what it takes to finish it XD  
> There will be another author's note at the bottom, so stay tuned~!

With a deep inhale, Undertaker leaned forward to look over the calm, greenish-blue seas his ship sailed through. He sighed in contentment, eyes closing as the sea air stirred his long, silver locks that had earned him the reputation of the notorious 'Silver Pirate'. And his reputation as a merciless brute who wouldn't hesitate to cut the throats of a thousand men had also gained him the name of 'The Undertaker', a man that had undertaken many souls to the afterlife without a second thought.

The over-sized, feathered hat upon his head threatened to fly away with a sudden gust of wind that filled the brand new sails above of his precious jewel of a ship, and he pulled from the edge and gripped it in one hand. 

"Oh no you don't, hehe. Sometimes I wonder about you, silly hat!" he chastised the piece of clothing, grinning as he looked up only to see the brim. 

"C-Captian, am I...interrupting something?" 

Turning his attention from his hat to his quarter master: a fairly burly fellow missing a few teeth and fingers. Due to the ring in his nose, the thick, scruffy beard, and the arm pit hair was nearly as long as the thick mane atop his head, Undertaker had 'respectfully' dubbed him 'Ox', a furry, fat, stubborn creature that looked like something to be reckoned with but could easily be put down should things become unfavorable. Afterall, Ox was more fat than he was muscle, more like a roly-poly than an ox...if roly-pollies had that much hair...

Undertaker laughed, grinning from ear to ear as he tilted his head and caused the several earrings that dangled from his lobes to clink together. "Of course not, what is it, Oxie?"

"It's Hubert, with respect sir," he grumbled, pouting as he sulked. 

"Ewwbert? What a terrible name. I much prefer your name as Ox! We had this discussion yesterday! Only last time you told me your name was Rubert! Make up your mind already. Is it Rubert or Ewwbert?" 

"Neither," he muttered before rolling his eyes and shaking off the Undertaker's childish name games. "Cap' we're nearing port. Crews wants ta know if we be stoppin for the drink and the women."

"Ah, what do you think, Ox?" Undertaker laughed, raising an eyebrow as his bangs shifted at the tilt of his head again. 

Ox's eyebrows furrowed in thought (not that he was the brightest of men either), and he chewed on the dip in his mouth. "Um, we're stoppin' a' the port, Cap...?"

"There you are, Oxie. Now, up to it. Pick up the pace! There are women waiting for a little bodacious pirate love~!" he chortled, walking past Ox with a pat to the shoulder and walking across the slippery deck to the large doors that lead inside the ship. Perhaps a nap was in order on the way into port...Yes. A nap sounded delightful...

Xxx

Stepping down the long plank onto the busy docks of the port where they had anchored ship, green eyes scanned the voluptuous clash of culture and soceity where the countries of the north and the west collided in a fierce battle filled with vast colors and music and food of every kind. Naturally, the salty tang of sea and fish still hung about like a heavy cloud, but it could not smother the flavors of several cultures that acted like the sweet sugar in an otherwise bland tea. 

His knee-high boots thudded against the wooden dock as he entered the colorful arena of culture, several booths filled with people laughing and gambling and drinking away their worries. Now this was something he could never tire from--the women, the liquor, the laughter. 

Undertaker smiled at the attention he almost instantaneously received from the eyes of those nearby; his famous reputation was known to many. It was hard to hide it with his brilliant silver hair and pompous attire that screamed for the attention he strived for and basked in when he received it. His hand rested on the sword that hung from his belt and bounced against his knee with every confident stride. Wanted in almost every major, European country, a bounty that could buy England itself or earn one the title of Sultan had been placed upon his head, but there were few who dared to try and claim that reward. His title as a ruthless murderer was well-known across the seas, and those that dare utter his name said it in a low whisper behind closed doors.

While he smiled, Undertaker marched down to an open tent over the water and supported by wooden planks beneath it only feet from the water's surface. As tall as he was, Undertaker was forced to duck beneath the wooden bar on the way in, and when he stood up fully again, the bar's laughter died down enough that the Undertaker could hear the mouse nibbling on the stale cornbread in the corner. "Now, now, don't stop the party on my account~!" he cooed, chuckling as he waved his hand and started toward a table where he sat on a rather comfy wooden chair and gestured for someone to bring him a drink from the barrels on the counter. "Would someone be a dear and bring the ol' Undataka something to wet his whistle?"

Setting both feet on the table, he relaxed and watched as a rather handsome young woman dressed in a blue and silver kimono. Oh, how he did love the foreign, dark-skinned women that were so rare in these seas as they belonged on the other side of the world. As she poured the amber liquid into a wooden mug before walking toward the pirate, Undertaker hummed to himself, winking at another young lady nearby when they met eye-to-eye. The blonde he caught sight of blushed, tucking a loose strand of her golden hair behind her ear and looking away.

"Thank you, m'dear," Undertaker crooned, managing a polite smile as he took the drink and the crowd began to stir back to life again. 

 "You are most welcome, Undertaker," she said with a graceful bow lasting no longer than a few moments. 

"Oh, so my reputation proceeds me, eh?" Undertaker smirked, closing his eyes as he let the amber liquid slide down his throat with a delightful burn. 

"Your reputation is legend, Undertaker-sama. There are not many that know not of that name," explained the Japanese woman with the twitch of a frown. 

The Undertaker could only laugh as he set his drink down near his feet and wiggle his eyebrows toward another woman who had caught his green gaze. "True, true, never truer."

"Undertaker-sama, why have you come?"

"Just for some fun, of course~! Although being on the sea is fun and all, it can be a little boring when I have no one to share my love with!" he explained before turning his attention to the blonde from earlier who was approaching rather timidly. "Now, don't be shy, lovely. I don't bite...too much."

Giggling, she sat beside the Undertaker and rested her cheek upon her propped up palm. "Wow, I've never seen someone like you before."

"I do hope that is a good thing," he chuckled, lowering his feet to the ground and turning his back to the olive-skinned foreigner. 

The blonde blushed, twirling a strand of her golden hair as a few more lovely ladies began to crowd around him. It was as if he were a magnet, attracting women from every corner of the town that had heard the legendary Undertaker was sitting at the local pub. 

"Is it true you've sailed the seas from England to the world's end?"

"Your hair is so beautiful! How did it come to be such a beautiful color?"

"Do you already have a woman back home?"

Questions came from left and right until the Undertaker raised both hands, losing all interest in his drink as he stood with a laugh. "Ladies, ladies, this is no place to ask such questions," he said, earning the disappointed moans and sighs from the women crowding him. He then smirked, shrugging as he spread his arms out and pulled a girl close to either side of him. "Ask me when I take you back to my ship."

"Your ship?!" they squealed in delight, most blushing and crowding even closer with their eyes wide in amazement. 

"Yes. It's a lovely thing, my _Silver Coffin_ ," he chuckled, leading them out the door and onto the docks. His hands slid down either side of the women in his arms, long fingernails drumming on their soft tummies in a silent promise of what he had in store for them later on. "Who wants to experience it first hand?"

"Me!"

"No me!"

"I saw him first!"

"Ladies," he consoled, laughing as his magnificent ship came into sight, towering over them as the large, silver sails lay flacant in the still night. "I can spare time for each and every one of you."

The thought of having all of these women gathered around him made him shiver in delight, hoping to get to his quarters before they either noticed the condition he was getting himself into or before their men noticed he'd stolen them away for the night. However, what he did not count on was the rough hand that grabbed his hair, tugging him back before pushing him into one of the small, wooden boats nearby. The women he had been escorting screamed as a flash of a silver blade came down toward his head with no restraint. It was met by the clang of Undertaker's sword as he blocked the long blade of a katana,  and he grit his teeth as he tried to fight the downward force of the blow--gravity not on his side. 

Kicking out, he managed to hook the toe of his boot on the attacker's hands and disarm them as the katana harmlessly fell in the boat beside him. The moment the weapon fell, he reached forward, grabbing a hand as he tried to stab forward. His attacker managed to twist away from his sword, ripping away from his hand and attempting to run. 

Undertaker grit his teeth, jumping out of the little boat and ignoring the cries of the women as he ran through them after the blur of blue and silver that was running from him. Where had he seen it before? He could hardly care less; anyone that dared to attack the great Silver Pirate wouldn't live to see tomorrow.

As he started to catch up with his attacker, it spun around, several shrunkens spinning through the air toward his head and one managing to catch his shoulder. Ignoring the slight pain, he swung his sword once in range and only managed to clip part of the thick outfit the attacker wore. It flew in his eyes, and when he managed to shake it away, the attacker had managed to disappear into the sea of humanity. 

Cursing, he glared in an attempt to pick out the blue and silver attacker, but it seemed as if they had made off like a ghost. "Dammit!" He sheathed his sword. "Curse world's end!"

At that exact moment, he felt a piercing pain in his back from his right shoulder to his left hip, causing him to cry out in surprise and stumble forward, redrawing his sword in defense. The two swords met again with a clash of silver, Undertaker's hair falling in his face as his hat tumbled from his head and rolled down the dock. He could finally make out the face of the Japanese woman he had met in the pub, and he could only smirk ruefully. If only such a pretty face had rather joined him back to his ship instead of attacking him. He would have enjoyed her 'company' greatly. 

Nevertheless, he did not hesitate to meet his boot with her stomac, forcing her backward but not without the blade skimming down his leg and tearing the fabric of his pants. She stumbled backward, falling back off the docks and into the dark waters of the night. Undertaker stood at the edge with sword in hand, waiting for the dark head of hair to finally resurface. 

When the woman finally came back up, spitting up water and grabbing ahold of the wooden dock in an attempt to get back up, the long end of a blade tapped her chin. "Pity. You are such a pretty thing. Such a shame to put it to waste..."

Spitting out a moutful of water, she snarled and her eyes narrowed into daggers. "Get it over with already."

In consideration, a pensive frown dotted his lips as he tapped her cheek with his sword before withdrawing and scheathing it back into his belt. "I think I have a much better plan for you."

Fisting her hand, she swung and punched him directly in the face, using this as a distraction to swim away. "I'd rather die than be your sex toy!" she screamed, trying to paddle away as fast as she could in her heavy garments. 

The Undertaker growled, jumping into the water after her and swimming toward the woman. When she turned with the intention of swinging her sword, he grabbed her wrist, using his free hand to yank it from her firm grip. Once disarmed, he threw her over his shoulder, swimming back to the docks with great difficulty as his attacker wouldn't stop screaming and kicking and hitting. It caused quite the scene.

He threw her back onto the wooden platform before crawling up and pinning her down to keep her from going after her sword that he had slipped into his belt. She screamed, arching and trying to wiggle her way out from under him like a slippery eel. However, his grip was too tight, and he simply raised a hand and brought it across his cheek. "Shut up, bitch!"

The woman huffed, settling like the blossoming red on her dark skin. Her eyes were still screaming bloody murder, and she grit her teeth in disgust at her captor. Nevertheless, she fell silent, huffing as she stilled after one more twitch of her defiant body. 

"There we are. That wasn't too hard, no?" he chuckled, his frown breaking into a grin. He stood, pulling her to her feet and pinning her against his chest. They stood face to face, and when his free hand brushed her cheek gently, she recoiled before managing to lock it firmly between her teeth. "OW! YOU COCKCHAFER!"

Undertaker yowled, pulling his bitten finger out of her mouth and pulling her head backwards by her long, ebony hair. "Do that again, and I swear not another man shall ever desire you again."

She bared her teeth with a hiss, eyes narrowing even more as she glared at him in a forced silence. 

"Now, let's get you somewhere you won't be bringing me any trouble," he said with a nod, spinning her yet keeping ahold of both her hands and her hair as he lead him past the remaining women toward his ship. "Sorry ladies, maybe another time?"

The women sighed, sulking as they walked off. Undertaker mentally cursed the girl in his arms, and if he wasn't getting laid tonight, he would make her pay for it dearly. "See, sweet? You've cost me something I haven't had in quite a while. Maybe you could make it up to me?"

"I'd rather cut off your dick."

"Ouch. Why such the cruelty?" he laughed, no longer affected by her harsh words as he walked her up to the deck and toward his cabin. 

Heart racing, she tried to squim from his grasp, picking up one foot and bringing it down on his boot. She wouldn't let this happen. This pirate wouldn't dare touch her in that way!

Growling, Undertaker ignored it as he shoved her through the door and pushed her off and onto the bed. Quickly, he closed the door as she ran toward the desk and grabbed a letter-opener. She raced toward him, raising her hand to strike as he turned around and forced her down back onto the bed in the struggle for the sharp object. Once it was thrown aside on the wall, the pirate struggled to get the Japanese woman under control as he reached for his belt and discarded both swords before trying to bind her arms together with the thin run of leather but failing before it could be carried out. 

Bucking her hips upward, she knocked him off balance and brought her legs up to wrap around his throat tightly. However, the pirate had tucked his chin downward, denying her access to his artery as he brought his fist up and then back down. It struck her temple, causing her to cry out in pain as it left a nasty cut from his ring. Blood streaked down her dark skin, and she tried to tighten her grip as she managed to get an arm free and try to defend herself. 

Undertaker was too busy attempting to slide his fingers beneath her legs that were starting to sink in, and the woman used her free hand to grab the nearby jewelry box of sorts and hit him in the head with it. The impact was hard enough to stun him as he held his head and let her go, and she slipped out quickly and made a mad dash for the door. 

Without a moment wasted, Undertaker recovered and ran after her, leaping from the bed as he hugged her waist and pulled her away from the door. Her hands flew to the arms around her as her legs kicked out and tried to wrap around the nearby dresser. It wasn't sturdy enough however, and it quickly fell off and knocked many of the pirate's valuable onto the wooden floor. 

Lifting her, the Undertaker slammed her down onto the bed face down and pressed a hand onto the back of her neck and a knee to the bottom of her spine. His other hand had her wrists now, pinning her to leave her vulnerable to anything he wished to do to her now.

Although she didn't stop squirming, she could already feel the tug of exhaustion from her fight that was sapping her of her strength faster than snow melts in summer. She cried out as the belt finally tied her arms together and as the Undertaker spun her around and looped her hands around the bars of his headboard. The woman tried to free her hands and her legs managed to press against his chest as he crawled over her. With every ounce of strength, she pushed him off and tried to yank her hands free but to no avail. 

The Undertaker fell off the bed from the push, but he was quickly back up again and smiled at the struggle there on his mattress. He knew that as tight as he made the belt that she would not be escaping from it any time soon. 

With a smug expression, he took in a deep breath to calm his adrenaline before heading to his desk and pulling out a bottle of rum. A drink was well deserved by this point. And he had to admit, this was much more fun than simply leading a woman to his ship. Oh yes, most definately. 

"You know," he began with a small chuckle, hearing the frustrated sounds falling from her lips nearby. "I never got your name."

There was, as expected, no answer to his statement as the woman was too focused on escaping. With his back turned, the woman settled and tried to think her way out. Her wrists were no longer slippery from the water they had both been soaked in. So why not rewet them?

Pressing her tongue against the roof of her mouth, the woman tried to create as much saliva as possible before spitting onto her wrists, now trying to yank them from her restraints. It was as if a hall of trumpets went off when she was free; however, she knew that she couldn't just bolt toward the door again. Gently, she slipped her wrists beneath the belt to look like she was still tied as she began to formulate a plan.

The door was locked as far as she knew, and a key was needed. So where was the key?

A shine of brass caught her eye as she looked toward the desk. There it was, beside a lit candle in plain sight. Yet, the Undertaker was sitting at his desk. She'd have to find a way to get him away from the desk if she wished to escape. 

Deciding that small talk would be needed to draw him away and attack him when he was not expecting it, she took in a deep breath and spoke. "Emma."

"Emma? Is that not an English name?" he asked, lifting his head as he stood with his bottle in hand and took a swig. 

"My mother was English. My father was a slave from Japan. She was his mistress to serve, and when the master found out that she had cheated, I was sent away to become a slave myself and mother was executed for sodomy and adultry."

"Oh, you poor thing," he said, frowning as he sat beside her. Yes, that was it. Just a little closer...

"Don't pity me. I do not care. I escaped on my own and came here. So what?" she snapped, hoping that a negative comment may provoke him to come closer. 

"Don't be hostile to someone who spared your life," admonished the pirate as he set his glass aside. 

"I hardly call rape 'sparing'," she muttered, that key looking oh so tempting. 

With a pout, the Undertaker cupped her cheek and ran a thumb across the bony lining. "I'm simply a lover of beautiful women. It's your sin to look so tempting." 

"It's your fault there's a bounty on that mane of yours."

"They want my hair? If that was the problem all along, I should have just cut my hair off a long time ago," he laughed, chorlting in his mirth as he stood and walked away from her. 

Dammit! She missed her chance. Maybe a new approach was needed.

"I wouldn't get rid of that hair," she said softly, boiling inside. "It is much too beautiful."

"Beautiful?" What game was she playing? The Undertaker kept his smile; although, inside he bristled and remained conscious of every movement. "Why thank you! I knew it was attractive, but I didn't know people would pay to have it!"

"I would," was the forced words from the woman's mouth as she attempted a small smile. 

It was a nice smile, the Undertaker had to admit, but he wasn't one to fall for simple looks. As he trailed up and down her body, he only smirked at the thought she could fool him into thinking that her hands were still bound. 

"Would you now? If that is the case, then if I let you go, would you willingly give yourself to me?"

She nearly choked, trying to keep herself from throwing up the bile that rose up her elegant neck and made her sick inside. "Y-....Yes...I just dislike being manhandled..."

"I see. Then, you should know I dislike being deceived," he pointed out, a grin reaching from ear to ear as he undid his coat and then slid the tattered ascot from around his neck. 

"Deceived? What do you mean?" She swallowed, sweat beginning to form on her brow as she realized how close he was getting with the possibility of knowing that her hands were free. Had she made her move too late?

"You think that I don't know you aren't tied to that headboard? I am no fool."

The woman bolted out of bed after the key, managing to grab ahold of it the same moment the pirate grabbed her. She screamed out, but no one would come to her rescue as he pinned her again and took her only way out.

"You sneaky little bitch. Did you really think you could run?" he snapped as his fist collided with her eyesocket. 

Managing to free her hand, it immediately flew to her eye as she sobbed uncontrollably. There was no running now. She was going to be raped by this pirate in this rustic old ship where he could easily kill her and get away with it afterward. 

Although he did love it when they fought, Undertaker softened at the tears. God dammit! He hated it when women cried. Think of it as his kyrptonite.

"Um...Miss...don't cry..." he whispered, letting her go as his hand gently patted the top of her head. "Um...Miss...um..."

The woman only continued to cry as he realized the blood he had spilled in their fight. Undertaker rose from her and took of his shirt, wadding it up and trying to guide her hand from her eye to see the damage. "Let me see it, m'dear."

She sniffled, giving up as she allowed him access to the bloody and bruised eye. It wasn't too serious, but it was sure to leave a mark and a black eye afterward. He cringed inwardly as he dabbed at the wound with his shirt. "I apologize, dear. I didn't mean to get so rough."

Sobbing angry tears, she punched him in the mouth, barely missing the intended target that was his nose. "You damn, filthy pirate!"

Losing his gentle nature, he grabbed her hands and hauled her to her feet and grit his teeth. "Let's see what you think in the brig!" 

Dragging her toward the door, unlocking it, and forcing her down the several levels of the ship, he thrust her forward into one of the many cages in the brig at the very bottom of the ship. It smelled of rotting, moldy food and mildew and sea and fish and everything else disgusting in the world. She landed in a puddle, staining her blue kimono as she fell with a sob and cradled her head in fright.The woman had long lost her firery attitude, that personality doused by the coldness of the pirate's heart. 

Although his heart was indeed ruthless and frigid, it wasn't frozen. He softened at her tears again for a moment before he shook his head and slammed the door, locking the door and walking off. He'd deal with the bitch tomorrow.

Xxx

Mai sniffled, curled up in a corner as she wiped away tears and snot on her blue sleeve. Her black hair was plastered to her forehead, still slightly damp from last night. She squinted as the door of the brig poured a blinding light and filled her ears with a dreadful creaking sound as it opened. 

"Good morning. Had plenty of time to reflect on your actions, no?" Undertaker chuckled as he brought a bowl of various fish pieces, some burnt and other left uncooked. "I brought you breakfast~!"

Scrambling to her feet, Mai reached her hands out through the bars toward the bowl and took it without flinching. As she ate, the pirate laughed. "You know, for such a pretty woman, I thought you'd have a more...refined taste."

"No one ever said you were a good judge of character," she murmured, stuffing her face with fish. 

"Ah, but I'm a better judge of character than you think. Perhaps it is because you have said so little to me that I have had not the time to judge you properly."

"So, I'm talking, judge me if you dare."

Undertaker smirked, adjusting the hat he had retrieved from the docks after putting Mai in the brig. "I see a lonely girl who's known nothing but running all her life. She'll do anything to get ahead, even throwing those she's come to care about in shark-infested waters. Am I right so far?"

Mai rolled her eyes, speaking with her mouth full. "I wouldn't talk. Ye'd do the same."

"Ye? Oh, dearie me. I didn't expect my crew's bad grammar to already wear off on ya, ahehe~!" he snorted, bringing up two curved digits to his lips to stifle his mirth. "Then again, you lack the refined quality I thought you would have at first glance. Tell, me  _'Emma',_ what be your real name?"

"That be my real name," she hissed, gritting her teeth as she held her already empty bowl tightly. 

Undertaker paused for a moment, an unnatural frown lining pale lips as green eyes sized her up curiously. "Hmm...you know..." he began, those pale lips pulling back into a feral grimace, "I don't like lies."

Without a moment to react, a hand darted between the bars and pulled Mai forward so quickly her head snapped against the iron bars with such force that blood streaked down an olive face and her head spun like a whirlpool. Her hands reach out to grasp the bars, eyes wide as she made contact with the pirate's. Their faces were inches apart, and her defiance quickly turned into an instinctual fear that wanted nothing but to kick and bite and scratch her way out of this dank prison. A lump in her throat caught, stomach swirling and lips trembling. Oh God, how she wanted away from this man. There were not many things she feared in this world--and fewer things that she regretted--but she was afraid of him, and she regretted knowing who he was.

"What is your name, filthy punk*," he growled, pushing her back only to pull her forward again into the bars.

"A-ah...M...I..." she tried to bring out, starting to sob in terror as her grip on the bars tightened and her elbows locked as if to try and resist. However, whether or not she was pushing away or pulling to keep from being pushed back again was unknown to anyone. 

"LOUDER!"

"M-MAI! MAI! MAI!" screamed the prisoner, trying to turn her face away and keep close to the bars as he pushed her away again and repeatedly slam her head back into the bars. 

Satisfied with his answer, the pirate stopped for a moment and reveled in the way the crimson film dripped down his captive's face and onto the wooden floor. It wasn't often he got to have such fun on his ship. Blood on board could mean death in the shark waters, but they were far from such waters now. There was nothing in his way. However, his perverted smirk fell, heart softening a bit at the tears running down dark, bloody cheeks. He'd broken his toy too soon it seemed. 

Gently, he let go with on hand and gently brushed away her tears with a caring thumb. "Now, now, m'dear. No need for tears. See? All you had to do was answer truthfully, and maybe we could have been friends already, hehehe~!" An insane but gentle smile graced his lips again as he let go of her completely and stood. He turned, looking over his shoulder with a tip of his hat. "Ta-ta, for now. I'll send Ox in to see aft'a ya."

Mai sniffled, quickly crawling from the bars of the cell and huddling against the wooden hull of the ship. She tried to quickly rub away the blood and tears off her face, only sobbing more at the pain pressure caused. Instead, she hug bare legs to her chest and tried to tighten her ruined kimono. The captive didn't care to fight as the First Mate came into her cell and tended to her wounds, ignoring the suggestive looks toward her bosom she was getting. 

It didn't matter anymore. 

Xxx

Days seemed to blur together, and the gentle lurching of the ship meant they must have left land at some point. There was no escape for Mai now in the open seas. Death would be welcome when it came. 

The stench of the cell became a foreign thing to her, and she soon was accustomed to the cramping in her stomach and the diziness in her head. 

Any day now, she knew, the captain would finally get what he was after, and she wasn't sure if she'd even fight back this time. Her time in the brig was mellowing her spirit, turning her into an empty shell that seemed no longer worth the effort of fixing. Her face was slowly healing over the infection caused by mistreatment, her hair now tangled and straw-like. Her body had grown bony--a skeleton with skin. 

Why wouldn't death come soon? Why wouldn't the man who'd tortured and abused her come forward to get what he had sought? Was she no longer desirable? Then why hadn't he cast her overboard or thrown her to the crew to use like a filthy punk?

Mai's thoughts were interrupted by the clucking of a tongue and the now familiar creaking of a door. "My, my, Ox hasn't been taking care of you very well, has he? I suppose I shall have a word with him later..." Undertaker stepped forward, kneeling before the bars and causing the prisoner across the cell to flinch and tremble at his presence. 

"Now, now, why the long face, m'dear?" he asked, taking the key from his belt and unlocking the cell door. With the tiny click of the lock, and the long eerie creak of the iron door, the Undertaker stepped through to kneel before the dark skinned woman and offer his hand. "Here, let's get you fixed up, Miss Mai."

Mai only flinched at the hand, staring at it like an owl. Her hands were clutched together over the legs drawn to her bosom, shaking in fear and lack of blood sugar. 

"Nothing to be afraid of. As long as we see eye-to-eye and there is none of that funny business, no harm will come to you on my watch. Take my hand," he whispered, wiggling his fingers slightly in invitation.

A spark of defiance tried to turn into a flame as she almost refused his hand, but it fizzled and a hand left the other to take the pirate's tentatively. This was her escape to death, most likely. However, she would not sit around waiting for the end to come when the answer was right there. 

His hand was oddly warm despite his cold heart, so large in comparison to her tiny, bony palm. The Undertaker gently guided her to stand, wondering vaguely where the fiery little assassin had gone before the said captive collapsed, sea legs wobbly and weak with malnourishment. Hugging her to his chest, the pirate frowned as he saved Mai from her fall and scooped her up into his arms. She was so tiny to him in his arms, like a child in comparison. As he walked from the cell with the Japanese in his arms, the pirate thought to himself,  _'It appears that I have broken something very precious. Poseidon doth not think well of me now.'_

The sea had not been tame for the days that he had the woman in his brig, constantly churning and threatening to sink the vessel time and time again. The Japanese had spoken of a powerful god of the storms and seas--Susanoo--was he trying to protect the woman of his land? To avenge her capture and punish those who threatened her with death?

The pirate snorted, ignoring the the superstitious whispers of such things among his crew that spread like a plague after the last few days. However, perhaps it was those whispers that had caused him to go below and bring the captive back to his quarters in an attempt to mend things with the angry gods--whether it be Poseidon, God, or Susanoo. 

With the utmost care, Undertaker laid the weak individual down on his cot and left only to come back after retrieving a damp cloth. He set it on her forehead before dabbing at the infected wounds he had caused on her once flawless face. In order to see the full extent of her injuries, the pirate brushed the bangs from his face to reveal the deep pools of emerald. 

Mai bit her bottom lip, staring at the green sea of his eyes that she began to drown in. The slight fear that had formed at being set out on the bed where she had almost been raped had subsided as she willingly waded in the tide of comfort the waves of green brought. She could only stare hopelessly, unaware of the hand that caressed her cheek and temple, and eventually dabbed the cloth over puffy, scabbed lips. 

Not missing the look of admiration, Undertaker only smirked and spoke with a slight purr in his tone. "You aren't the first to be breathtaken by my eyes, m'dear," he chuckled, pulling away to rewet the rag within a water basin atop his desk. 

"H-How did you...?" Mai blinked, and had her skin not been as dark, the blush on her cheeks would have been more profound. The feeling of embarrassment washed over her, caught in the act of staring at the man who meant to take advantage of her as if she were infatuated with him.

"There's usually a look on people's faces. I've grown accustomed to it after a long while. I suppose I usually tire of those staring at my face instead of paying attention to my words, so I prefer to hide them," he explained, knowing that her next question would have been why he hid them. 

With a sigh, Mai lowered her gaze as she avoided those eyes at all costs. However, they were the flame, and she the moth as her eyes begged to look just once more. NO! She would not stoop so low as to form feelings for the monster that had forced her into a pirate's prison. He was the beast of this tale, and she would refuse to become the Belle with every ounce of her being. 

"I do not mind the look, Miss Mai. It is just bothersome when it comes to my crew, and it becomes quite awkward when men start staring in the same fashion. I am more prone to lovely ladies then I am to the brutes of this ship, after all," he chuckled, smilng gently as he set the washcloth aside in the basin. Taking her hand, he gently kissed her knuckles before patting them gently with his other hand. "There. All better~!"

Mai only pulled her hand away, brows knitting together as she wiped her knuckles on the sheets in disgust despite the fact that the small gesture had made her cheeks warm.

"Was that really so bad?" he chuckled, raising an eyebrow at the gesture his captive made. 

"Disgusting," she muttered, not meeting his gaze as she scowled defiantly. 

"Ah, there you are, m'dear," he crooned, grinning at the nature that was already beginning to return. "I thought I'd broken you too soon."

Gritting her teeth, the woman struggled to sit up with a dangerous glare. "Is this all a game to you?"

The expression on the captain's face did not change as he simply stared at the woman with a grin. "Of course it's a game. However, neither of us know what the game is. Doesn't that make it interesting?"

"You're fucking insane," she hissed, looking away as she started the room again for an escape route. He'd neglected to lock the door on the way out, and if she could just make it past him... 

"So they say. But the definition of insanity is doing the same thing multiple times and expecting different results," he chuckled as he stood. "Yet, this is all new to me so far. And I'm quite eager to see where this leads. The only insane one here is you, who plans on escaping like last time. How stupid do you think I am?"

Mai froze before deflating, her eyes still narrowed as she glared at Undertaker through the corner of her brown eyes.  

"Oh, what did I do to deserve such a look? Hehe, relax. Make yourself comfortable. There are many a thing I must do before I require use of that bed. Go ahead and use my cabin to your leisure, though I must warn you to stay inside. My crew practices less restraint than I," he warned,  waving his finger at the Japanese on his bed. Standing, he grabbed his feather head to place it on his head and readjust his shaggy, silver bangs. "Good evening, Miss Mai."

With that being said, he excused himself and left the quarters with the door unlocked. Mai only huffed, laying in bed with a slight pout. The unlocked door seemed promising, but her better sense that even if she were to leave, there would be nothing but the expanse of the sea. There was simply no place to run. As the captain had warned, the crew was more of a threat than she was, and like his eyes, she found comfort in his presence. 

How ironic...her captor was her savior, and this prison was her sanctuary. 

Xxx

The next morning, Mai awoke with a slight frown as she sat up. She hadn't been awoken by Undertaker's return, and as she scanned the room, she found him asleep at his desk--vulnerable.

If her time to escape finally presented itself, it would be now. However, the question was how it would be done. If she outright killed him, the crew would still turn on her and kill her anyway. Perhaps if she held him hostage, the captain would prove valuable enough to exchange him for a trip back to land..That was a gamble within itself. 

However, if they were in the middle of the ocean, the scent of blood might attract sharks...The threat of the entire crew being sunk over one captain might be enough to persuade them...

Smirking, the Japanese woman managed the strength to get out of bed and searched his cabin for rope. Although it was not found, she managed to procure an extra belt in which she managed to subtly tie the pirate's hands together to the chair. She then frisked him, taking away his weapons and then using the belt he had been wearing to tie his feet together. 

At the sight of her sword, Mai smirked as she took it from atop the dresser nearby and then proceeded to lock the door and wait for the awakening of the man who obviously was quite the deep sleeper. 

Xxx

Undertaker awoke with a yawn, silver lashes fluttering and a slight smile on his face as he rested his head on the back of his chaiir. "Mmm..." Licking his dry lips, the pirate tried to stretch out his arms before a deep frown graced his countenance. "What the hell?" he muttered, trying his restraints as he wiggled in his chair. 

"It's no use. You aren't getting out any time soon, pirate," came a familiar voice as a blade pressed to his throat. Mai stood at the end of the sword with a cocky smirk.

"Ah, it's you, m'dear. I was beginning to fear that Oxie might have done this. Then again, I doubt he has the brains for such a thing," he chuckled before clucking his tongue. "Now, are you going to be a dear and untie me? This is starting to get a bit uncomfortable."

"You think I'm just going to untie you?" she asked, her brow twitching as she pressed the blade against his throat a little harder. "Not until you do as I ask."

With a calm shrug, Undertaker closed his eyes in contentment as if they were speaking about nothing except what tea they'd be having. "I know, I know. You want me to order my crew to dock at the nearest port and let you off in exchange for their lives, otherwise you'll kill me below decks to attract the sharks."

With a startled blink, Mai stood there stupidly before her cheeks heated and she swung her swords across his cheek. "Shut up!" 

Blood beaded on his cheek, and the pirate tsked at the scratch left on his once flawless face. "Just let me go already. They won't do it. I've already warned them about it. They'll just toss you overboard, and we'll go on with our merry lives. You're just wasting my time. Now, chop, chop. Hop to it now."

"How do you know that? What if I manage to kill you before they kill me?" she asked with a huff, scowling as her face burned with anger and her hand shook. 

"Then I'm dead, and I don't give a shit what happens later. If you're going to kill me, then do so quickly. Life is too short to be standing around, bickering about what to do. Get it over with or let me go--simple as that."

Undertaker smiled at the silence he received, and even more so when his restraints were slowly and reluctantly loosened. Anymore blood spilt on the ship would simply attract the sharks or make the crew angry, killing her and throwing her overboard. He knew that this would be the outcome. She was smart enough to realize the flaw in her plan, and Undertaker was well aware of it. 

"Good girl," he chuckled as he rubbed a sore, pink wrist and then stood. He bent backwards to stretch his back before yawning and grabbing a belt to hold his pants up. "Now, behave. I have better things to do than play these games."

With a laugh, he put his hat back on and patted the woman's head with a grin. He then paused, looking at the sword before snickering, allowing her to keep it as he started toward the door. "Be careful with that! It's sharp~!"

Growling, Mai nearly ran after him, furious as she shook her sword at him. "FUCK YOU, YOU FILTHY, MANGY PIRATE!!!"

Undertaker's mad, cackling laughter was all she received as the door slammed shut behind him to leave her alone in the cabin once more...

Xxx

The days passed on, each very similar to one another. The pirate captain would return to his quarters at sunset where the angry captive would be fuming, trying to meditate as he walked in. He'd drink a little, tossing jokes and insults her way as she tried to focus on becoming 'one with the universe' in a half attempt to stay calm. 

Undertaker would always fall asleep either in his chair at the desk, or on the small sofa on the other wall beneath the circle window. Mai would always get the bed where she would stay most of the day. She spent her time either looking at all the maps and charts on the pirate's desk or throwing up in the 'poop bucket' (as Undertaker so fondly called it) from an occasional bout of sea sickness. 

Seldomly, she would catch Undertaker in the middle of the night writing in his journal or charting a new course to some place she never heard of. As time passed, she grew curious of his travellings, and instead of leaving the cabin to see just where they were or asking the captain, she began to read the journal entries. Most of the time, it would only speak of where he was on a particular day, which direction the wind was blowing, which crew member was ill with scurvy, or where they had stopped to dock (sometimes, in great detail, explaining which women he bedded from time to time). However, as Mai explored his writings, she blushed at his description of her. Seeing his previous entries that lacked any passion in writing and lasted only sentences at most, the descriptions of her and the fun he gained from her presence lasted paragraphs, nearly entire pages. And a small page that looked like it had been ripped out and then placed back in was folded neatly between two pages. On the paperwere random scribblings and words as if he were trying to find the right words for the poem written on the other side: 

_"Love has no other desire but to fulfill itself._

_But if you love and must needs have desires, let these be your desires:_

_To melt and be like a running brook that sings its melody to the night._

_To know the pain of too much tenderness._

_To be wounded by your own understanding of love;_

_And to bleed willingly and joyfully._

_To wake at dawn with a winged heart and give thanks for another day of loving;_

_To rest at the noon hour and meditate love's ecstasy;_

_To return home at eventide with gratitude;_

_And then to sleep with a prayer for the beloved in your heart and a song of praise on your lips._

Mai paused, eyes staring over the words again and again. Never had the captain ever displayed such things toward her. There was no sign of attraction other than the obvious fact he had a liking for her body. Her brows furrowed, trying to understand where the sudden affection must have come from. Perhaps this wasn't even his words. Maybe it was just a poem he had seen once and written down since he couldn't keep the original copy. Either way, she didn't believe for a second that this strange change in emotions toward her was anything important--just a type of fondness blooming from her constant presence.

As she closed the book and rested her head upon her hand, fingers drumming on her cheek, she remained unaware of the presence lingering behind her. Suddenly, strong, firm hands clutched her shoulders, causing her to jump with a start and tense with wide eyes. Silver hair cascaded down in front of her as Underrtaker leaned forward to meet her surprised gaze with a fond grin. "My, my~! What's got you so distracted?" he chuckled, lifting his head before he saw the book sitting on the desk in front of her. "Oh? I see. Find anything interesting, did you?"

Mai quickly shook her head, still tense as she looked at the captain in slight fright. If he had known she'd been poking around his personal affects...

"Hmmm, I suppose I'll skip the lecture on how it isn't nice to snoop," he chuckled, shrugging as he let go and retreated to a nearby cabinet. Upon arriving, he pulled out a rather large bottle and uncorked it before starting to down the drink. He leaned against the desk, flashing a toothy grin. "Then again, I suppose this is mostly my fault, seeing as I have you always locked up in a room with no entertainment...Perhaps a little sea breeze might do you some good, no?"

Mai blinked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "You mean...I can go outside?"

Marching straight toward the door, Undertaker bowed and gestured for Mai to step through the open doorway. "This way, m'lady. The outside world awaits you~!"

* * *

 

The poem excerpt was written by: Khalil Gabrin

*And punk is an old word for prostitute

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh geez, it's been a while. Unfortunately, a break was needed do to a loss in the family (my great grandfather), a brand new addition to the family (a new puppy named Karma), and the constant lack of internet due to the fact that Mother Nature has decided to make the Midwest a rain forest now and block the satellite. Yay...  
> I really worked hard on trying to come up with something interesting for Undertaker as not much is known about his past except pure speculation and the knowledge that he likely committed suicide by drowning. I really hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I will let the audience decide what my next update should be. I will update on three of these stories, comment below on which one you want next:  
> A Foolish Figure  
> Death of the Shinigami (this fanfic)  
> Phantom of the Theatre  
> I look forward to your questions and comments, perhaps even a few pointers and help with my work as I am prone to overlooking many spelling errors -.- It is a curse I do not particularly like, and even with my vigilance, they still manage to get through...  
> Thank you for reading and sticking with me all this time.


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